06/06/2025
On the day of my sister's wedding, I showed up early—just like always. I set the cake on the display table, did Amanda's hair, ran to grab her vows she forgot at home (!!), and even steamed a bridesmaid's dress that got wrinkled in the car.
By the time guests were arriving, I was tired but happy for her. I went to check the seating chart... and my name wasn't on it.
Confused, I asked Amanda's new husband about it. He gave me a sheepish look and said,
"Oh! Yeah... Amanda said there wasn't enough space inside, so family not in the bridal party would eat out in the garage."
The GARAGE. Concrete floors. Folding chairs. No music. No décor. Just a few round tables shoved together like a sad corporate lunch. The only other people there? The catering staff and two cousins we hadn't seen since 2009.
I found Amanda and quietly pulled her aside. "Hey... garage?"
She frowned like I was being dramatic.
"What? You're not a bridesmaid. I had to prioritize people in the wedding. You understand, right?"
Oh, totally. I understood. But she needed to understand something too.
So I went to the garage. But not to stay there, of course. ⬇️
